


Write Me A Love Song

by wingedlioness



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-10-30 12:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10876773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedlioness/pseuds/wingedlioness
Summary: Emma Swan sang, a lot. Made life in the foster system interesting (because being an orphan wasn't interesting enough on its own?). Finding out the voice in her head belonged to an alleged soulmate however, was more than she wanted to deal with.What use was a soulmate when he lost everyone he’d ever loved? Killian Jones knew theoretically there was “the one” out there for him, but he simply couldn’t find it in himself to care. He couldn’t believe there was a person out there that could help heal the holes in his heart.





	1. Emma, 4 - 18

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the works for years at this point, which makes this past episode even more entertaining to me. I had wanted to get it 100% finished prior to posting but life keeps getting in the way. So here you go, the musical soulmate modern au no one asked for. Additional ships will be tagged as everyone is actually introduced. Song titles & artists listed in end notes.

***4***

Emma Swan sat nervously on the bench. She could hear her preschool teacher and foster father as their voices grew louder and louder. She hummed absently, swinging her legs back and forth as they dangled above the floor, desperate to both eavesdrop and simultaneously block out the argument. She knew now that the song she started singing on the playground was somehow  _ bad,  _ but she didn't know why. It was a really fun song and seemed almost foreign or something. It was about a week of a drunk husband and a wife calling him silly for mistaking various objects. Or maybe she was mistaking them. Emma didn't know; she wasn't sure what “drunk” meant, for that matter.  Regardless, it was pretty fun, and it wasn't like she even made a conscious choice to sing it. One moment she was playing in the sandbox, and the next she could hear the song in her head as clear as a radio. It was even better than the radio though, because she could somehow  _ feel _ the words. And the undercurrents of adoration and joy that accompanied the words. 

_ :Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool _

_ Still you can't not see _

_ That's a lovely nightgown that me mother sent to me _

_ Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more _

_ But fingers in a nightgown sure I never saw before: _

She felt the eyes of the teacher’s assistant on her and realized that she was singing it again. Emma turned bright red under the disapproving stare and shook her blonde hair forward in an attempt to hide her face. Her father took that moment to emerge from the office, his glower landing on any sight but her. He motioned gruffly towards the exit, taking her backpack. 

“Thank you again, Mr. Swan. Please keep us informed of your decision. Oh, and please tell your wife congratulations. ”

He nodded curtly and shut the door behind them.

 

It wasn't until they were in the car leaving the daycare that he spoke.

“Emma. Where did you hear that song?”

“I didn't, Dad. It was in my head. Like dreams? I could just feel it! I’ve had other songs in my head n’ stuff but this one was real loud. Like I jus’ had to sing along or he'd be singing it without me and it's so much more fun to sing together. Like ‘m gonna teach baby!”

Her foster father sat stoically through the young girl’s rambles, his pale face slowly turning more ashen. He let Emma steer the conversation into the rest of the day as she grew bolder due to the lack of reproach she had expected. When they pulled up to the house, he sent her off to her room with an admonishment to not come out until it was time for dinner. It was at that moment that fear gripped her. 

Hushed and muffled voices flowed near her door as she sat cuddling with her blanket. Her mind was silent, and she found herself desperately wishing the voice would sing, to distract her from the dread overtaking every heartbeat.

Dinner came and went without incident, just a gentle admonishment that certain songs were not appropriate and that she be more careful. There was also a few confusing moments where she was told that various behaviours may not be tolerated in future homes, most importantly her habit of singing any silly song that came into her head. Emma kept silent, nodding vigorously to all reprimands and suggestions. 

 

The next morning, a woman came to the house with a battered suitcase that Emma’s mother took upstairs with her while the stranger ate breakfast with Emma. 

“How old are you, Emma?”

Emma looked up with wide eyes before her father nodded curtly for her to answer. “‘M fo- four.” 

“And what’s your favourite thing to do?”

“Sing- I mean drawering. Drawering is my most fun thing.” 

Emma could see her father sigh with relief as she changed her answer. She still didn’t know what was so bad about singing, but if her parents didn’t like it then she wouldn’t either. No matter how much fun it was. Maybe she could like it and not tell anyone? She glanced up to see the woman looking at her expectantly. She flushed and turned back down to her cereal, eating silently. She could feel the adults doing that silent communication thing, but fear held her head down. 

Footsteps came down the stairs and went right outside. The rest of the morning passed in a weird daze, and next thing she knew her parents were saying goodbye and wishing her luck. The woman took her hand and pulled her to the car. 

“Bu, but Mommy’s crying?”

“It’s ok, honey. We’ll get you a good, new home, don’t you worry.”

 

***10***

It took her a while to learn not to sing. She still found herself humming, but after five homes in a year, three years in a row, she managed to control it. Mostly. Damn if the boy’s voice in her head wasn’t hard to resist, though. As she grew up, the songs changed from ultra raunchy to more modern sounding, even if they were still rarely things she heard outside of her head. She didn’t know how to explain it, but she could just feel that they were coming from someone else. That the boy (the voice was definitely a boy’s) was  _ real.  _ When she was ten, one of her foster parents took her aside the day before her social worker was due to explain to her that it wasn’t real. That she had a fantastic and wonderful imagination but that’s all it was. 

She remembered crying herself to sleep that night, only to wake up still crying as bars of “Amazing Grace” rang through her head. A song she recognized… Emma figured then that they had to be right, it was only in her mind. A coping mechanism for an unwanted lost girl.

 

The next home she had gone to was one of the nicest. Her foster mother seemed to really care for her, and they spent most mornings cooking pancakes and afternoons checking Emma’s homework. She even took the time to show Emma old photo albums one rainy afternoon after she had gushed about a teacher’s slideshow of their European vacation. Emma drank in the sights of Paris, of French beaches, of all these magical places and things that were suddenly so much more real because of the photographs in front of her. 

“Is this where you learned the songs you sing?”

Her foster mother paused on a picture of a young man outside a cafe, his smile and teeth so bright against his dark skin, a mirthful eye winking at the camera. 

“What do you mean, Emma?”

“The songs. They don’t sound like English; they’re so pretty. I hear you in the shower, and sometimes before I come down for breakfast.”

Lips drawn tight, she closed the album rather forcefully and stepped away from the couch.  “And what would you know about it?”

Emma drew back at the suddenly harsh tone. 

“I, I mean, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought-”

“Well you thought wrong. Go brush your teeth, it’s time for bed.”

Emma shrunk in as much as possible, rushing out of the room. She had no idea what she had done wrong. She was pretty sure the songs had been in French, from what little she’d heard of the language, but never had she expected that to upset her foster mother so much. 

The sobbing she overheard that night was even more unexpected, and she fell into an uneasy sleep listening to the murmured apologies that her caretaker whispered to some imaginary person. 

Emma left an apology note on the bed as the social worker pulled up to the house the next afternoon. She didn’t even bother looking around in farewell, resigned to being shipped away again.

 

***14***

It wasn't until she started high school that she found out. 

“So wait, if you're like, going to meet your soulmate, you sing?”

“Ugh no, weren't you listening? You get whatever song stuck in your head that he's singing or listening to. They say very few people actually sing, but if you do then it’s ‘True Love’. And it only means you'll meet them at  _ some _ point in your life.”

Emma felt like a statue. That… that couldn't be true. Sure she sang up some really weird songs that she had no idea where they came from, but it couldn't be someone else's head… someone meant for her. 

The girls’ hushed voices took on a nasty tone as Emma started spiraling in her thoughts.

“Oh, you mean like Swan Song over there?”

Emma's face turned red as she inadvertently tuned back into the conversation.

“Like totally! Poor lil Orphan Annie totally has a soulmate out there just piiiiining for her.”

Shrill laughter filled her ears.

“Wait,  _ she _ has a soulmate?”

The incredulous, disdainful voice pierced straight through Emma’s gut. 

“Haven’t you heard her humming? She does it like  _ all _ the time. It’s so annoying.”

“Whatever, I bet she knew all about it and does it on purpose. Why else would anyone pay attention to her? If she has a soulmate that makes her all cool and forbidden fruit and stuff.”

Falsely muffled giggles echoed in her head as the girls continued to gossip about how there’s no way that an unwanted girl like her could have a soulmate while none of them did. 

Tears fell down her cheeks even as a song swept traitorously through her mind. His voice sounded so sincere and so happy and...

_ :I will defend, I will fight. I'll be there when you need me. When honour’s at stake, this vow I will make: _

Everything was just too much. She ran from the classroom, ignoring the teacher’s cry for her to stop.

 

It turned out the singing soulmates thing was well known, only not well understood.  Just not well known to a foster kid getting bumped around from house to house. And most certainly not for foster kids that burst into song at random moments, driving home their caretakers’ dissatisfaction at the state of their own lives. There may have been nice foster families out there, ones that believed in True Love and happy endings, but those definitely weren't the ones she landed in. Now that she'd heard about it though, she started noticing it everywhere. Like why nearly every film and tv show were musicals. She had always thought everyone lived with random songs in their head; she hadn't known that non-musicals were considered avant garde simply because their “happy ending” wasn't guaranteed. 

One day she caught one of her teachers humming the latest pop hit at his desk, looking a bit embarrassed, only to watch him later stalk off to the chemistry teacher’s room. She couldn't help but turn in that direction, moving as quietly as possible. Grinning and blushing, she listened to her history teacher berate his boyfriend for his choice in music. She snuck away the moment the chem teacher’s teasing chuckles were cut off abruptly, not wanting to hear her teachers doing  _ that _ . 

The rest of her time in that school before her “family” inevitably sent her back was spent looking up any nonfiction accounts of soul mates she could find, and as not-creepily as possible observing her history teacher. There seemed to be a lot of theories but few true facts regarding soulmates. 

 

That meant that somewhere out there was a person with an irrevocable connection to her… that also got her tossed out of her first ever true home? Well wasn't that delightful and complicated. If the one person people claimed she could trust with her whole self managed to accidentally screw up her life, she wasn't sure about her chances of even a soulmate panning out and wanting to stick around.

 

***16***

She’d had love songs dancing through her ears for two years now, only getting more and more frequent over time. Wherever her soulmate was, he was very much in love. Emma wasn’t sure how she felt about it. The happy songs were a far cry better than the weird, angry punk she’d had in her head, even though those had fit her mindset at thirteen. And it felt kind of great, sensing how happy he was through the music, but at the same time, was it really fair that he got to be so happy while she was tossed around from place to place? And what was the point of soulmates if they were happy with other people? 

Somehow the songs in her head made her decision to strike out on her own so much easier. She’d had enough of forever being unwanted. She would go and find her own happiness. Her “soulmate” managed; so would she. 

 

Not even two months of being on her own and she found herself stealing a stolen car, the other thief in the backseat. He pissed her off with his patronizing attitude, but he did manage to get them out of getting arrested and his brown eyes were kind of pretty… so he couldn’t be all bad. The constant barrage of love songs in her head wasn’t helping either when he asked her out. It was incredibly gratifying to have someone interested in her. He had been on his own longer than she, seen more of the world, and she had to admit that was awfully appealing. Neal let her keep the car, and she spent the time before their date listening to Journey playing in her head (seriously eclectic taste), hoping to find a reasonably clean public bathroom to freshen up in.  She grinned at herself in the mirror and reveled in the unusual hope rising in her chest. Maybe, just maybe, she could be happy too. 

 

Emma felt wanted for the first time in her life. Neal made her laugh, he praised her skills. She helped get them out of a lot of close scrapes and they were making it. Sure it wasn’t great having to keep an eye out for housekeeping or taking lightning quick showers. And the few nights they got to sleep in a real bed were amazing. After several months she realized she much preferred the freedom in her new life than having to force herself to fit into a household, only to be tossed out at the first sign of trouble. It didn’t matter that meals were haphazard or nights uncomfortable, she felt like she could belong with someone.

 

Neal didn’t sing, but she was ok with that. He did, however, love music. As they traveled the West Coast, he made a point of dragging them to any outdoor concert they ran into. It was hard for her. The later concerts were nice, she was able to enjoy most of them with no warring music in her head. But anything that was earlier than even eight o’clock tended to have her internal songs clashing with the songs everyone else could hear. 

“What, did you not like it?”

Emma was shaken from the words bouncing around in her skull ( _ :Yeh, you must treat your lover girl right; If you wanna make lover's rock: _ ) to see Neal looking at her strangely.

“Huh? Oh yeah!” She quickly enthused. “It was great. They were great.”

“Okay…” he stared at her a moment longer before shrugging. “I heard from a guy at the bathrooms that there’s a hotel nearby that takes credit cards and doesn’t run ‘em ‘til check-out. Figure we could use one from the wallet you grabbed earlier.”

The pull of a bed for the whole night, maybe some TV, and definitely a shower outweighed the guilt she carried for the neat pickpocketing she managed at the beginning of the concert. 

 

She stepped out of the bathroom, patting her hair with a towel. Warm showers were simply the best. She stopped short of the bed when she noticed Neal staring at her uncomfortably. 

“What?”

“What were you doing?”

Emma looked at him quizzically. She had never seen him so tense before.

“Uh, showering? I know I probably shouldn’t have taken so long but it was so nice to indulge for once-”

“No.” She startled when he interrupted her. “Were you singing?”

“Oh. Uh. Maybe? I mean yeah. Yeah.” 

She fidgeted with the towel around her chest before going to her bag to rummage for clothes. She wasn’t sure what she had been singing, but his reaction was putting her a little on edge. She had just been feeling so good, and her soulmate kept going over that same song again and again- she hadn’t even noticed she was doing it. 

“I didn’t know you knew The Clash. You always shrug whenever I talk about music.” 

“Well, I mean sure. Everyone knows The Clash, right?” 

She peeked from the corner of her eye to see his posture relax a bit as he nodded. She turned away more to keep her sigh of relief hidden. 

“Hey, why don’t you come over here?” He strode towards her, hand outstretched enticingly. “I’ll show you ‘Lover’s Rock’ all right.”

Emma bit her lip at his seductive smirk, pleased with his obvious mood change. She dropped the clothes, and allowed him to pull her towards the bed.

 

Later, tucked into his side, she let herself drift as he flipped through channels. 

“Ugh.”

Emma glanced up to see  _ I Love Lucy  _ playing. 

“There’s just nothing good on.”

Neal went to turn off the tv but she grabbed for the remote. 

“Hey, I love this show!”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you like all that ‘soulmates’ and ‘isn’t singing magical’ crap?”

“So what if I do?” Her cheeks reddened as he sneered at her. “And _ I Love Lucy _ isn’t just about Lucy and Desi singing and being soulmates. It shows how awkward it can be, and how people can still love each other even when they mess up.”

Neal scoffed at her and took the remote back to shut the tv off. 

“Soulmates. You wanna hear about soulmates? My old man was  _ obsessed _ .”

Emma couldn’t help but be intrigued even though his tone got under her skin. He’d mentioned some sort of falling out but hadn’t really gotten into detail about his father before. 

“Oh yeah. Nothing else mattered. He had an entire library dedicated to ‘historical’ accounts, saved every ‘based on a true story’ movie, would accost complete strangers if they happened to be singing or humming, even if you could see their freakin’ headphones.”

He sighed and pulled her closer. She felt her hurt disintegrate as he let his own pain surface. She ran her hand down his pale arm to find his fingers, silently encouraging him. 

“My mom left when I was little. I don’t really even remember her anymore. But I do remember that that’s when he started really getting obsessed. After a few years, I found him searching up esoteric songs to start singing. I don’t know if it was so he could pretend to have a soulmate or so he could try and sniff his out. It didn’t get really bad until he remembered that I was still there though.”

He flung his arm over his face, letting the silence draw out. Emma desperately wanted to prod him to keep going, but she knew he would. It was just a matter of being patient.

“I’d just turned seventeen. He turned to me and asked why I didn’t sing. I was so confused. Of course I sang. I brought up singing in the car with my friends, and when I’d join him while watching the movies I’d seen a thousand times. He got pissed at my answer.”

Neal extracted himself from her embrace to lace his fingers under his head, staring up at the ceiling. “Found out the old bastard set up cameras throughout the house. There were at least three in my bedroom, ‘to catch all angles’. Even in the freakin’ bathroom. He had been keeping tabs on me, searching for any sign of me having a soulmate.”

“So enough about soulmates, alright?” He turned towards her, a smile finally creeping back on his face. “It’s not like you buy into that crap either, right? You and me, we don’t need it. Right?”

Emma grinned in return. All she’d ever wanted was to be chosen. Who cared about a soulmate that didn’t need her anyway. She buried her aching heart as best she could. Even if he found out that she had one, he would still love her. Of course he would. Wouldn’t he?

 

Over the next couple of weeks, she managed to do an excellent job keeping her songs to herself. It helped a lot that Neal had music playing whenever he could. After what he had revealed about his childhood, Emma couldn’t help wondering if he listened to so much music as a way to try to be close to the father he had loved once. She felt guilty, hiding a part of herself away, but after his confession and all the homes she’d lost over the years… she wasn’t about to lose another one. 

 

And he wanted to make a permanent life with her. They would move to Tallahassee, have enough money to really start off right. A real apartment, real jobs, regular meals, and she could just picture it all. Emma let herself hum the tune going through her head. She giggled to herself as she recognized it as the last song Neal had caught her singing. After the initial moment of panic, it turned out to be a really good night. Now she just had to wait for him to show up with the money from the watches and this night would be even better than that. A real home, at last.

 

***17***

“Emma? You have a visitor.”

The guard unlocked her door and led her to the visitor receiving area. She couldn't stop the pounding in her ears. Neal came for her? But why would he show his face in the prison? He would get arrested. He couldn't, wouldn't, risk it, as he'd proven. But she didn't know anyone else. And how would anyone know she was here?

As her thoughts spiraled, the guard opened the final door and motioned her through. 

An older woman sat nervously at one of the tables. 

“You have one hour.”

The woman’s eyes snapped up to hers. Emma put on an impassive face, trying desperately to place this woman. Nothing about her grey hair, matronly clothing, and warm brown eyes were familiar. The woman rose cautiously, timidly, and waited for Emma to approach.

“My name is Ruth. I… I expect you have a lot of questions, including ‘who are you’, huh?”

She coughed lightly. “This would probably be easier if you sat down, please?”

Emma folded her arms defensively but gingerly sat down across the table from her. Whoever this woman was, she wore the aura of beloved mother so strongly Emma almost wanted to curl up in her arms. 

Instead she stared at Ruth expectantly. 

“Ah, thank you, um,” she sighed. “I'll save us both the trouble and get right to the point. I was married to your father.”

Emma went rigid. Out of all the things she expected to hear, that was not even in the same galaxy of possibilities. 

Ruth took advantage of Emma’s inability to bolt to unfold the tale to her. A tale of soulmates and true love that faltered when one of their two-year-old boys was kidnapped. How her husband sought solace in drink while she was left trying to keep their lives together. How he stumbled home one night, in tears, begging her forgiveness for an alcohol-induced fling. That incident caused him to sober up for nearly a year until she came home to a dark house one night. Thankfully the remaining twin was asleep safe in bed, but she didn't leave his side until the police came by in the morning. Her husband had been found in a ditch off the road, clearly driving intoxicated. There had been little to salvage from the crash, other than a note left on the passenger seat next to an empty bottle of vodka.

Wordlessly, Ruth passed the note to Emma, simultaneously dabbing at her unshed tears. 

Emma gingerly unfolded the aged but well cared for paper. At the bottom was a man’s hand-written scrawl, the rest of the paper filled with a detached typeface.

 

Nolan,

Turns out one night stands to “ease the pain and guilt of losing a child” can result in an unwanted child. Who knew, right?

I figured what the hell since I found out after twenty weeks and the thought of another twenty without my period was too good to pass up. And it seems that dying of cancer can convince people to do things they probably shouldn't. I didn't mention that. You weren't the only one running that night. 

I did try. I did. And she's gorgeous, Nolan. Managed to snag my eyes in what's likely to be your face. But I'm dying and I can't do this anymore. I dropped her off at a hospital and I'm gonna hit the road while I still can. 

Thought you'd wanna know or something. It was a hell of a night though. 

x S.W.

_ Dearest Ruth… I'm so sorry. I tried to forget that night, and then I tried to ignore this letter but I can't let another child down. I failed James, I won't forgive myself for failing this one but maybe we can start making up for it once I find her. I love you more than I ever show and far more than I deserve. I hope you'll understand why I wrote this down instead of telling you…and that you forgive the innocent little one even if you kick me out. You'd be a far better parent alone than with me if you choose to tell me to leave.  _

 

Emma didn't notice the teardrops hitting the letter until Ruth tenderly placed her hand on Emma’s. 

“The postmark was dated a month before his accident…and from Boston. I,” she gulped. “I spent the next 16 years trying to track you down. There were so many hospitals to check…so many babies… It took my son getting an internship with the Department of Correction in Massachusetts for us to get any favours to cash in to find you.”

Emma sat immobile, eyes unable to leave the document in her hands. 

“I know it's probably too much to ask but…could, could I come see you again?”

Emma looked up in surprise. If she had been able to think about it, she would've expected some flowery (and insincere) declaration of love or acceptance or whatever. A kind and pressure-free request left her more speechless than before. 

All she could manage was a dumbstruck nod before the guard came over and led Emma back to her cell. 

 

Weeks went by and Ruth proved to be most patient, the most caring person Emma had ever met. In fact, twice a week she would come by with stories of Emma’s older brother (if  _ that _ wasn't a trippy thought), with pictures of her farm in Maine, with not promises but suggestions of trips to take and sights to see when she got out.

“Wait, Maine? Then… how are you visiting every week?”

Ruth touched her finger to her lips. “Shhhh,” she winked. “I’ve saved up a lot of money and paid the local boys to take care of the farm while I found you.”

She stood up as the guard came over to indicate their time was up. Emma sat there with her mouth gaping open.

“And don’t you dare think about trying to talk me out of it, Emma Swan. You are stuck with me for a long while, you hear?”

 

Ruth was the person she confessed her fears to. It had been two months since she’d had her period and… she was so afraid. Ruth reached for her and Emma let the woman’s arms envelop her. Even when the moment was cut short by the guard, Emma still felt a peace settling in her heart that had never been there before. Ruth smiled at her, smoothing the hair back from her tear-soaked face and made her promise to take the test immediately before her next visit, so they could find out together. 

 

***18***

Free at last. 

Emma stepped carefully out of the door, desperately trying to balance Henry with one arm and her small bag of belongings with the other. Ruth rushed from the car to hug her and tug the baby from her arms, cooing delightedly at him. The tall, blonde man strode over at a slower pace and enveloped her in a large embrace, trapping her extended hand between them. 

“You are crazy if you thought I’d shake my sister’s hand instead of hugging her.”

Emma laughed into his shoulder, squeezing him back before they pulled apart. 

“Hi, I’m David.”

“Hey. Emma. “

They grinned at each other before noticing Ruth’s face streaming with tears.

“Oh  _ Mom _ , geez. Come on Emma, let’s get her into the car before she gets my nephew all wet.”

Ruth glared at him through her smile. Emma followed them to the van and went to get in the back with her son before Ruth shooed her into the front. 

“You are very wrong if you think I’m going to not spend the first leg of this trip staring at my grandson.” 

Emma’s heart was just flooded with the amount of love pouring out of these people. The lost girl, the unwanted orphan, actually had a family. 

As they drove away from the prison, she found herself unbelievably excited by the future.

“Here, I think I have the perfect song for this moment…” David fiddled with the stereo for a moment before finding what he was looking for.

Emma let Tom Petty’s voice wash over her as the road stretched ahead and joined in with David’s belting.

_ :And I’m free, free fallin’ _

_ Yeah, I’m free, free fallin’: _

Screw her silent, entirely useless soulmate.  _ This _ was what happiness was.


	2. Killian, 4 - 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian Jones didn't have the easiest life, but he'd make it through. He had his brother beside him and a song in his heart, what could really go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: includes mentions of underage drinking, child abuse, canon character death, and some violence.

***4***

Liam squeezed Killian’s hand, tears streaming down his face. Their father stood stone-faced beside them, only acknowledging the boys to steer them roughly down the aisle. Killian watched in confusion as his dad shut the box, and his mother disappeared from view. He wasn't sure what was going on but he could tell it was bad. As much as he wished to ask questions, he could sense that now was not the time. That, and every time he opened his mouth, Liam gripped his hand harder. 

His mum had looked so different up near the priest before they took her away, almost colourful, dressed elegantly but so untouchable. The choir’s voices flooded his ears and suddenly all he could think of was his mother’s blue eyes growing dim, her face pale and shiny, fever radiating off her yet still extending her arms to draw him in for a cuddle. A car door slammed shut. Killian was pulled back to the present, the large black car splashing them slightly as it pulled away from the church steps. Strangers in black suits held umbrellas over them while another car moved forward. His dad ushered the boys into the next car while Killian strained against his hands, trying to keep the other vehicle in sight.

 

It took until he was warm in bed, listening to the odd cadence of his brother’s voice instead of their mum’s, for him to voice his uneasiness. 

“Liam?”

His brother glanced down at him as he closed the book.

“Is Mum- where did Mum go? And when does she come back? I'd like her to come home now.”

Liam’s lower lip trembled and he pulled Killian into a hug, ignoring the bedspread that fluttered to the floor. That's when Killian finally realized that their mother wasn't coming back. He still didn't fully understand but at last the tears began to fall. Liam held him closer to let him howl into his shoulder.

“We’ll be okay, little brother. I promise,” he whispered.

Killian wailed his heartbreak out while Liam simply held him closer. He drifted off to the hum of quiet assurances, Liam’s arms never loosening their embrace. 

 

***8***

“Killian sings  _ babby  _ songs!”   
He scowled up from his swing at the shadow looming over him.

“I do _ not _ !”

“Oh yeah?” The other boys gathered around, the leader sneering at him. “Pretty sure ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ is a song for babies. Same for ‘Old Macdonald’.”

Killian flushed, floundering for some sort of comeback as the group jeered and laughed before heading off to torture someone else. 

The girl’s voice in his head was so clear, so determined to get the words right that he had started to sing along with her without realizing. Nor had he thought about what songs in particular she was singing, he just wanted to join her. He caught several of the students whispering around him as he jumped off the swing to head inside. He needed to fix this, and quick.

 

“Liam!”

“I’m right here, no need to shout!” Liam winced as Killian bounded down the stairs, flinging himself at his older brother. “Geez little brother, what’s got your knickers in a twist?”

Killian released his arms from Liam’s waist and punched him before letting him in the door. 

“I need you to teach me a song.”

“Uh… ok. How’s this: ‘M a prat, my big bro’s not-’”

“ _ Liiiaaaaaaam _ . A real song. An adult one.”

Liam took in the pleading and desperate expression on Killian’s face. “Kil, you know ‘adult’ songs.” 

Killian trailed after the older boy as he set down his school things and made his way to the kitchen.  “No, I mean like a really  _ really  _ adult song.”

“Oy.” Liam rubbed his face dramatically. “Fine. But you can't tell Dad.” Killian started to cheer before Liam waved him into silence. “And you can't sing it at school either.”

He gulped under his brother's glare, thankfully being saved from answering by their father’s arrival. 

“Later.” Liam mouthed to Killian as he grabbed ingredients for dinner.

 

Killian loved Seven Drunken Nights. So did his classmates. Their parents and subsequently his teachers and father, however, not so much. He felt the boxing his dad gave his ears would be well worth no longer enduring the torment of the bullies. He could tell by the storm in his brother’s eyes that he didn't though. 

“‘M sorry, Liam.”

His brother caught his eyes for a moment before turning his attention back to the bruise blooming behind one ear. Killian tried to keep the tears at bay as the boys receded back into silence. 

“I… I just have to know why, Kil. Why was this so important for you to do at school?”

“I was so sick of it.” Killian didn't dare raise his eyes off the floor, focusing on his father’s shadow coming from the other room. “I keep hearing these songs in my head but they’re all nursery rhymes and little kid songs and I end up singing along and everyone makes fun and-”

“And that's why you wanted to learn ‘adult’ songs.”

Killian finally looked up as Liam clasped his shoulder. He nodded and Liam pulled him in for a tight hug, taking care to not hurt his sore head. 

Neither one noticed their father slipping out the front door.

 

In fact, they hadn’t noticed he was gone until the next night, so often did they have to fend for themselves due to his work schedule. But when their estranged aunt showed up at the door with a severe-looking woman, Killian felt his stomach drop. Liam somehow carried out the motions of host, escorting the women to the table and getting them tea. Killian sat stone-faced as their words washed over them, phrases like “not sure we’ll be able to keep you together” and “no, we are certain he won’t be returning. His correspondence was quite clear” flooding his mind. 

It wasn’t until the women got up to leave that his aunt finally spoke, addressing him directly. 

“You know, it’s really all your fault, Killian. If you had just been able to keep your mouth shut, you would’ve never reminded Brennan of how his wife had a soulmate out there for her that wasn’t him. But you had to ruin it, didn’t you. Well, I’m not taking you two in, you’ll be wards of the state now. If your brother loves you so very much, he can apply to get custody in five years.”

Liam slammed the door as she opened her mouth again, only then making Killian realize the death grip his brother had on his hand. 

“...Liam?” his voice wavered.

“We’ll be alright, little brother. We’ll show them. We’ll be just fine.”

 

***13***

“Mr. Jones, I hope you fully comprehend the enormity of this decision. Taking care of a young man is no easy task, and just because you are his elder brother, do not think the inspectors will go easy on you.”

The stern woman peered at them over her glasses, daring either of them to contradict her or plead for leniency. Killian kept himself as still and invisible as possible, doing his best to help Liam get them out of there in one piece (and together, finally, together again). 

The moment stretched out uncomfortably until she finally shrugged. 

“Well then. Sign here and he’s yours.” Killian’s grin was cut off as she directed her glare at him. “ _ Temporarily. _ ”

Killian gulped down his giddiness. He was desperate to not invoke her ire, not when they were so close. Liam’s hand barely trembled as he took the pen from the social worker. Several forms and many more instructions later, and they were released.

 

***14***

The sun was just rising over the hill as the boys reached the top. Killian could see the waves sparkling as they crested and, not for the first time, wished they could’ve had their mother’s grave closer to the sea. At least she could still see it from her spot. He wove his way around the nearby headstones, giving his brother a bit of privacy before heading back.

“-and next week I start with Her Majesty’s Coastguard.”

“You'd be right proud of him, Mum.” Killian interrupted. Liam flushed a bit and tousled Killian’s hair before he could duck out of reach. 

“Aye, but she’ll have her hands full looking after you, won’t she? You better not start causing trouble at school again, little brother.” 

Killian rolled his eyes as his brother glowered down at him. “She’ll have a tougher time looking after you, you git. You get to go play hero after all.”

He tried not to take Liam’s words to heart. He knew very well the stakes if he started to cut classes or be caught gambling in the lavatory again. The authorities hadn’t been too keen on letting an eighteen year old take custody of a delinquent thirteen year old, but lo and behold when that same teen was able to turn himself around and excel in his studies, they had to begrudgingly grant Liam full custody. Killian was not about to let his brother down now. With his acceptance into the Coastguard, Liam was finally going to support them both well, and even pursue his own dreams simultaneously. He talked often of how they'd both join the Navy when Killian was of age, sail the oceans, serve their country, be heroes. Killian wasn’t sure he could live up to Liam’s dreams for them, but damned if he wasn’t going to do everything in his power to try.

He sat back on his heels, waiting while his brother gushed about his new post. 

“Hey Kil, sing for Mum?”

Killian was stared up at him. “Oh come on, Liam. Yer always making me sing!”

“Yeah well, let’s consider it payback for that stunt you pulled in primary school.” 

He groaned, “that was ages ago.”

“And for making me ears ache with those American boy bands.”

“Bloody hell, that’s  _ not _ my fault.”

Liam laughed as Killian gritted his teeth. He managed to ignore the voice in his head most of the time, and with everything Liam had done for him, he couldn't very well tell him to lay off. But every time he teased him about his “new taste” in music or whatever, all it did was remind Killian of how he drove their dad away. Of how Liam got stuck working shite jobs as a teenager straight out of secondary school just to keep them (mostly) fed and to pay for their tiny flat. That didn’t mean he was going to take all of his brother’s teasing lying down though.

“I’m not the one who knew the songs within a single refrain, so I don't know who you think you're kidding with your grousing.”

Liam’s ears flushed as he grumbled something under his breath and stalked a few paces away. Killian enjoyed the momentary victory before the guilt swallowed it down. 

Shortly after, a clear voice rang out, the warm air carrying it all the way down to the sea sparkling in the sunlight.

_ :Amazing Grace _

_ How sweet the sound _

_ That saved _

_ A wretch _

_ Like me: _

His brother came back to his side, clasping his shoulder affectionately. The boys sat together long after the song waned and the sun rose to full strength. 

“We’re okay, little brother. We’ll do alright.”

 

***16***

Killian bounded down the stairs, nearly bowling over Graham on the landing. 

“Sorry, mate!”

“Whoa, slow down, Killian. What’s the rush?”

“Liam’s home today!”

Killian spared a glance back at his neighbour in time to catch a hopeful gleam shine in the man’s eyes and a blush grace his cheeks. He managed to not laugh outright as he ran out the door to the car waiting at the curb. 

“Hey Rob!”

“Slow down there, if you break an ankle you know your brother is going to blame me, yeah?” Robin teased Killian as he buckled in. 

“I think he’ll forgive anything,” he turned eagerly to his brother’s best friend, “I’ve gotten the distinct impression that our neighbour may reciprocate my brother’s crush.” 

“Look at you, you little matchmaker. You really think Liam’ll be pleased you’re meddling in that part of his life?”

Killian scoffed, “given how much he prattles on about ‘the sweet, thoughtful, quiet, oh-is-he-gorgeous-I-didn’t-notice’ Irishman next door, it’s more like he’s forcing it on  _ me _ .”

“So,” Robin began nonchalantly, “did you happen to invite anyone else for his promotion celebration dinner tomorrow?”

“You know, I may have mentioned it to Graham, now that you ask.”

They exchanged toothy grins. 

 

_ :Isn't this world a crazy place? _

_ Just when I thought our chance had passed _

_ You go and save the best for last: _

“Well, that’s certainly an interesting song to be singing whilst your brother is finally snogging your neighbour.”

Killian’s head snapped up. “Wait what?” he ran to the doorframe, soap dripping off his hands and dishes forgotten. 

Robin chuckled behind him as he caught sight of Graham’s hands framing Liam’s face, the men lost in their own world. Killian fist-pumped, heading back to the sink.

“Seriously though, you alright mate?”

Robin was staring at him, more accurately at his face. Killian realized he had tears on his cheeks and wiped them on his sleeve hurriedly. 

“That happy your brother is allowing himself to be happy? ...Those don't look like happy tears though. Is it something else?”

Killian bit his tongue as more of the song tried to escape, conscious of Robin’s scrutiny. It continued in his head, the melancholy and sorrow laces in the words nigh overwhelming. Robin silently helped dry the dishes and put them away as Killian handed them over, still boring a hole in his skull. Killian studiously ignored him until he put the kettle on. He sat down opposite Robin and stared back. 

Robin broke eye contact first, and Killian relished the victory. Until he spoke.

“Soulmate, is it?”

Killian went pale, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. 

“No worries mate. Liam told me he suspected, but you always try to play it off so he never wanted to push.”

“It’s bollocks is what it is.”

Robin, rolling his eyes, pushed away from the table to grab mugs as the kettle started whistling. 

“It’s like an out of range radio.”

“What?” 

Robin glanced back, “Mine, I mean. I catch it once in a while, fuzzy, far-off. I get these glimpses, vague feelings of loneliness or joy or whatnot accompanying a song I can’t truly make out.”

“You have one?” Killian sounded awestruck. “But I thought everyone could hear them loud and clear! Doesn’t it only happen when you’re going to meet them someday? Why would yours be quieter? Is this how you knew I have one too?”

“I think it was more the inexplicable ballad you were singing just now, in key and rather brilliantly, I might add. However, it’s a far cry from the punk bands you always switch the car radio to,” he laughed. 

Killian hesitated. He'd never talked with anyone about the girl in his head, and the thought of doing so was… odd. Almost like a breach of trust somehow. She didn’t sing often, and each time seemed sadder than the last. It certainly wasn’t his right to divulge without permission, heaven knows that’s the last thing he’d want in her position. Robin seemed to sense his trepidation, and sat back down, sliding his tea over.

“Speaking of singing, the lads and I are talking about starting a band. Nothing complicated since I’m leaving for uni in the States in the fall, but the pub’s gonna let us play Thursday nights. Could use a vocalist…”

“What, really? You'd really let me play with you guys?”

“Well, you’d have to learn guitar. But you’ve been bugging me about a job, so I guess it’s hard to say no when you’d be there anyway.”

“Robin, this is brilliant! Thanks mate!”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Robin warned. “You know you have to ask your brother first.”

“Ask me what?” Liam appeared in the doorway as if on cue.

Both looked up, Killian getting up to peer around his brother for a glimpse of the other man.

“Where’s Graham? Were you that bad a kisser?”

“Ha ha.” 

Liam was bright red, and the way he licked his lips, Killian could tell it was taking everything in his power to not still be making out with their neighbour.

“He has to work early, and I think pissing off his sergeant would be a bad start to our relationship.”

“So there’s a relationship is there?”

Robin nudged Killian while Liam opened the same cabinet three times before floundering for the sugar. 

“On that note, I should follow the good constable’s example and head out.” Robin clasped Liam on the shoulder, shooting him a wide smile. “You owe me a drink, mate. And a few details.”

He shot Liam a wink as he shut the door behind him.

“What’s this about a job?”

Killian sat back down, grabbing his tea. “Yeah, not only is Robin finally acquiescing on getting me a job at the pub but he’s invited me to be in a band!”

“Killian-”

He interrupted quickly, “Liam look, I haven’t had a problem with drinking since I got you back. Working in a bar isn’t going to change that.”

He could feel Liam’s death stare from across the kitchen. 

“Besides,” he mumbled, “I never got caught anyway.”

“That’s not the point, Killian! The point is you showed up hungover the first three times I came to visit that last home. You were  _ twelve _ . Maybe no one else noticed, but I did. I don’t think that kind of environment is what you need.”

“What I ‘need’ is a job. I know you just got promoted but we still have bills and I refuse to be a burden on you.”

“You’re not a burden-”

“Yes, I bloody am!” Both froze at his outburst, then Killian slouched forward. “Yes, I am.”

Liam pushed away from the table and came behind him, kneeling beside his chair. “No, little brother. No you’re not.”

Killian lifted his head, eyes full of tears. “How can you say that? After everything I put us through?”

Liam rolled his eyes, “I love you, you stubborn git.” He wrapped an arm around his brother, pulling him close. “If this is what you truly want, you have my blessing. All I want is for you to be happy, Kil.”

 

Happiness was a strange thing. It infected Killian. At first it made him paranoid, expecting something to go wrong. Months passed and… it didn’t. Liam was flourishing in his command (and flushing a lot whilst home, thanks to Graham), and Killian found having his own source of income terribly liberating. His pretty face garnered a fair amount, his funds mostly going to taking better care of their needs at home but he managed to put a tidy sum aside for a brand new guitar. He could hear the girl (thinking of her as his “soulmate” was just too weird) sometimes, sad and lost. More often than not, he found himself singing the newest cover Robin wanted to learn for her. He had no idea how she felt but he could only keep thinking of his time in the group homes and couldn’t bear the thought of having her think she was alone out there. He may not be at her side, but at least he could be in her head right? Whether or not he dreamed about her theoretical gratitude, well, no one else needed to know. 

 

Four months to the day of Liam’s promotion, Killian left the bar with a spring in his step. His brother had been telling him about rumours of an officer actually working with pirates to prey on recreational boaters and Killian was eager to hear more details. He was shamelessly rewriting it for a French assignment, a short story rife with adventure and intrigue (and a dashing hero of course), one that had his teacher as excited for the conclusion as he was. He'd heard something on the news about an incident at the docks, he couldn’t wait to badger Liam about it.

As he rounded on to their street, he stopped dead. Outside their flat was a couple of coppers talking with Graham, all in uniform. One of them had a hand on Graham’s shoulder, the man obviously in distress. Killian’s mind retreated even as his feet moved forward. Soon, too soon, Graham noticed him and broke away from the others to approach him. Killian began walking faster, shaking his head furiously until he was at a near run, barreling past them and up the stairs. He tore his door open and slammed it behind him. Ignoring the cries that followed him, he slumped against the door and stared into the empty apartment. 

He should’ve known better.    

 

***18***

Killian wiped the blood from his mouth, sneering at his assailant on the ground. The man clutched at his ribs, bruises already forming around his broken nose. 

“Next time maybe you’ll be more careful whom you try cheating against, mate. A bit hard to play four of a kind when the dealer knows he didn’t give you any.”

The guy groaned in pain. Killian bent forward and reached into a coat pocket, extracting his wallet. 

“Bastard,” the man spat. “Wait ‘til the barman learns ‘bout your game.”

Killian laughed. “You mean the bloke I give a cut to when I fleece sheep pretending they’re sharks? Ones just like you, in fact.” He straightened, watching him writhe futilely. “Come back anytime,  _ mate _ . The lads and I are grateful for your patronage.” He pocketed the cash and tossed the wallet back at the prone figure.

Killian headed back into the bar, wiping his bloody knuckles on his jeans before raising his fist high. 

“Drinks are on me!”

 

The pub quieted as the football crowd dispersed. Killian sat alone at the end, playing with his tumbler of rum as he let the news wash over him. The anchor’s monotone droned on. The high from the fight was wearing off quickly, and he found little comfort in the bottom of a bottle anymore. Two years of drink would do that. His soulmate remained silent, he was sure at this point she had been the delusion of a lost boy. There’s no way there could be someone out there for him, even if there were, he would probably just lose them anyway. Seemed to be his lot in life, to be alone, it’s what he deserved. Graham moved to the States shortly after Liam’s funeral, Robin following not long after to finish his schooling. Portsmouth was left simultaneously too quiet and too loud, Killian knew he had to get out. School was meaningless, music and alcohol, those he could count on. So off to London he ran, never looking back.

_ “-charged with collusion, and aiding and abetting criminal elements that led to the death of Maritime Operations Officer Liam jones and his-” _

“Oi! Hector, turn that rubbish off, would you?” 

The words were out of Killian’s mouth before his brain had registered the content of the news. The bartender acquiesced, an eyebrow quirk his only response. Killian got up, tossing some bills on the counter without bothering to look, the high well and truly gone now.

 

The night was soothing, the noise of the cars drowning out the echo in his head. He’d moved to London to get away from talk of his brother’s “death” (murder, he was bloody murdered and they made it sound like some sort of accident…), and yet it continued to dog him.  

“Fuck all,” he muttered to himself, taking a pull from the flask in his jacket. 

“No, please just leave me alone.”

A woman’s exasperated voice cut into his thoughts.

“Aw, but I’m just tryin’ ta walk you home, lovely.”

“No, I said no and now you’re just being a wanker.”

Killian began walking a bit faster and caught sight of a woman stalking away from a man maintaining a surprising distance. Judging by her tone, Killian mused it may not be that surprising, given that the woman seemed ready to bean him should he close the gap. Far be it from him to ignore a damsel in distress however.

“‘Ey mate,” he interrupted whatever brilliant argument the neanderthal was sure to spout off. “The lady said no quite clearly. Perhaps you should get your ears checked.”

The brute focused his gaze on Killian, swaying as he lumbered to a halt. “Yeah pretty boy? Why don’t you go butt into someone else’s conversation?”

“Nah, this one looks pretty good. Or will, once you’re not in it.”

The woman had stopped at this point, and was watching with a smirk pulling at her lips. Killian couldn’t help but being struck by how incredibly beautiful she was, and how tired she seemed.

“Why I oughta-”

Killian side-stepped, letting the man’s momentum send him tumbling past, landing with a painful thud. He left him whimpering on the ground to approach the woman. 

“You alright?”

“A bit pissed it took a man getting involved for the asshole to back off, but glad he did.”

“Sorry, “ he began before she cut him off.

“I really wasn’t looking forward to having to deck him, so truly, thank you.”

Her blue eyes sparkled at him as she squeezed his forearm. Killian found himself enchanted by her smile.

“Don’t suppose _ I  _ could walk you home?”

She laughed at his question and shook her head. “I can take care of myself, honest.”

“I meant so I could have a chance to learn your name, and, if I’m very lucky, your number.” 

He waited breathlessly as she stared at him. As she paused, he took it to mean her rejection so he bowed to her.

“Killian Jones, luv. Should you ever desire an escort, don’t hesitate to-”

“Milah.” She coughed awkwardly, “my name’s Milah. And while I don’t need an escort, I wouldn’t say no to some company…”

Killian grinned at her as she shot him a shy smile, extending her hand. 

“Milah,” he bent over her hand and brushing a kiss against her knuckles. “A pleasure to meet you.”

 

Killian glanced up from the strings, eyes lighting on curly brown hair at the periphery of the crowd. He smirked to himself before taking a breath and finishing the chorus.

_ :I'm standing alone _

_ You're weighing the gold _

_ I'm watching you sinking _

_ Fool's gold: _

 

As soon as the set wrapped, he jumped down and wove his way through the tables.  He caught a few interested glances but his sights were set on a rather lovely form at the bar.

“Hey!”

Milah turned, granting him a smile. “Hey yourself.”

“Didn’t know if I’d see you again,” Killian leaned over the bar and signaled his coworker for a glass.

She toyed with her drink, her other hand coming up to fiddle with a bare ring finger. “I, uh, wasn’t entirely forthcoming last week. I’m married.”

He took the proffered rum from the barman, grateful for the timing. “Ah, I see. That explains why you didn’t call. No worries luv, I can-”

“No, I mean, yes I’m married but we’re separated. I left him behind in Glasgow.”

“Can’t imagine a bloke dull enough to not cherish you proper,” he slid his stool a little closer, nodding for her to continue. “Tell me about it?”

She flushed, finally making eye contact again. “Dull doesn’t even cover it. He’d been so sweet in school you know? A bit scrawny, a bit shy, bullied by the ‘strong’ boys but persevered anyway. A bit odd with his obsessions with fantasy worlds and magic and swords. Silly me thinking that meant he would want to get out, get away, see the world, find adventure. We got married straight out of school, but I started making plans for uni and he… he kept saying we couldn’t afford a move. I couldn’t go to art school when we needed to start a family. He made all these plans, these _ domestic _ plans, for us without even consulting me.”

Killian could feel the disdain dripping off her voice. For a woman as hungry for life as she was, he could scarcely envision her trapped like that. She downed the rest of her drink before turning back to him.

“When I mentioned separating, he waved it off. Thought I’d never leave him. So I packed my bags that night and never looked back.”

They sat in silence for a while, Killian signalling for another round before sliding his hand next to hers. He waited for her to take it before entwining their fingers.

“I’m game for a little adventure, if you are,” he winked at her.

She smirked back, “you sure? Your repertoire seems a bit stuck on the morose and emo…”

“Oi, I’ll have you know I can be quite the romantic.” 

Milah laughed, “mhmm, I think you’re underestimating the appeal of a man with a guitar, regardless of his musical aptitude.” 

Killian could feel the blush go up his ears. She wasn’t wrong, he’d gotten more than a little experience with the fairer sex since striking out on his own (coincidentally happening as his scruff grew in), one proposition coming from a lass who simply saw him with the guitar case, she hadn’t even been present for his set. Still, he was certain he could pay her back for her teasing. 

He rose from the stool, placing a quick kiss on her cheek. “Don’t blame me for what I do next, it’s all for you.”

She laughed again, brow furrowing as he headed off and hopped back on the small platform. He shot her a toothy grin before plugging back in. 

“Excuse me mates, I have a request and it’s bad form to leave a lady wanting.”

He hummed a little as he found the right key, waiting until he caught Milah’s eye, reveling in her bright red face.

_ :When it's love you give _

_ I'll be a man of good faith.: _

He could hear her laughter even as he sang, eyelids fluttering dramatically in her direction. He felt lighter than he had in two years, and the look she was giving him made him think he wasn’t alone feeling that way.

_ :I will defend, I will fight.  _

_ I'll be there when you need me.: _

Maybe something was going to finally go right.

 

***22***

Killian hummed to himself, making notes on the sheet music on the bed in front of him. The front door unlocked, and Milah edged her way in. Her keys clattered into their basket by the entrance and she chuckled as she took her boots off. 

“What’s so funny darling?”

“Will you ever use the table? We have one now. You know,” she padded over to place a kiss on his waiting mouth, “the one we’ve had for three years?”

“Oh I know, luv.” He licked his lips and waggled his eyebrows, conjuring up the memories of when they first got it. She had just gotten the job at the art gallery and the band had started making nearly enough to equal his gambling profits. Space for her art, and a bed, had taken precedence when they moved together, so surprising her with a real dining table months later felt like a luxury. And her gratitude, while likely exaggerated, was oh so fun… Milah coughed pointedly, dragging him back to the present. 

“So?” She turned away to the kitchen, “why don't you, Killian?”

He shrugged, focusing back down on the guitar. He could feel her waiting on him. “It was the only space of my own for so long. Hard to break the habit I guess.”

He kept his eyes down, reluctant to think on the time before London, the time before her. Why bother thinking about a life he left behind. The boy he’d once been was long gone, disappeared in the wake of Liam’s death.

“Oh hey, the lads were talking about coming out Tuesday to see your show, if that’s alright?”

“Isn’t that poker night? You’d all really give up cheating people out of their money for me?”

Killian met her eyes with a grin. “We won’t do nearly as well without my right hand there anyway, luv. Now that you’ve gone legit on us.”

“Oh heaven forbid,” she laughed with him, coming back to sit on the bed while she waited for the kettle. “Although… speaking of, I, uh, mailed something out today.”

Killian raised an eyebrow, confused by the nervousness in her voice. “Milah? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, great, even. I’ve filed for divorce.”

Killian’s fingers slipped, causing a weird squawk on the strings. Her face shone at him, every inch alight with amused joy while he gaped back at her. He’d always been perfectly content about their inability to marry. What mattered to him was that she shared her home, her bed, her life with him. Some legal documents wouldn’t change anything, but if she cared enough to break all official ties with her estranged spouse... His brain sputtered back to life after a few moments. 

“Of course Rupert needs to sign the papers as well, and then they’ll need to go through the courts but-” 

Her words were cut short as soon as Killian managed to throw the guitar off to the side. He pushed her back onto the covers, giggles quickly morphing into moans as he took care to show her exactly how much the gesture meant to him. 

 

Last night of Milah’s art show, and Killian was nearly vibrating with energy through the band’s entire set. She had insisted she didn’t need his physical presence for the final night, that he would drive her far less crazy taking a gig than hovering around patrons. For her first show, she had done quite well (working at the gallery for so long had likely facilitated that), sold a number of pieces, and received a couple of commissions. They hadn’t heard anything from her lawyer about the divorce proceedings, other than the papers had reached her ex and they were awaiting their return, but he knew it was the right time. He had travelers cheques and a new set of luggage waiting at the flat, and two plane tickets burning a hole in his back pocket. Killian knew how badly she wanted to travel, things to see, to do. With the money he’d saved and the success she’d had, they could finally start. And maybe when they got back from wherever they decided to venture, she’d be in the clear for him to ask a question beyond “where to?”  

 

_ :Not a thought _

_ Not a care _

_ Resting safe and sound _

_ With each other there: _

Killian laughed. Whatever his soulmate was singing, it was quite obviously a lullaby of sorts. If Milah heard him now, she’d probably tease him for jumping the gun a bit on any parental prospects. They’d only recently had The Kid Talk, what with all the divorce proceedings and her nearing thirty. There was still so much to do, so many places to go. But from the song in his head, it seemed like  _ she  _ at least was on the motherhood path. He let himself hum along with her, navigating the streets with the guitar a comforting weight on his back until he neared the gallery. As he came up towards the building, he realized that it was the first time in years that he’d heard her sing. He’d all but forgotten about her existence, and right before he’s off to “propose” (in a way) to his girlfriend, she resurfaces. Killian bumped into someone just in front of the door and shook his head to clear it. 

“Ah, sorry, mate! Spaced out there for a moment.”

The man made some intelligible grumbles and Killian shrugged, going to walk around when a hand landed on his chest. He frowned at it, the dirty nails catching on his t shirt. 

“Yer sorry, are you?” the stranger growled.

“It was a bump, mate. Hardly surprising someone’ll bump into you when you’re standing in the middle of the bloody sidewalk.” 

He knocked the hand off, startled as to how difficult it was. Taking a careful look at the man’s face yielded evidence to a suspicion that this guy was on some sort of drug, and it didn’t look to be a pleasant sort. His eyes were bloodshot, the whites gleaming yellow in the streetlight. His skin shone, sweat glistening on his weirdly veiny muscles. In the window, Killian spied Milah gathering her belongings and bidding goodnight to the curator. He realized that if he allowed them to remain where they were, Milah would walk right out into… whatever this was. 

“If you have a problem with me, why don’t you step over here and we can settle it?”

“Sorry,  _ mate _ , my business is with someone else,” he snarled. “You can wait.”

Killian’s stomach dropped when he positioned himself directly outside the gallery’s door. 

“Oi! I’m not done with you.”

Killian grabbed for the man’s arm, and he yanked his hand, sending Killian tumbling into the wall. Killian heard a sickening crunch as his back hit, the soft case crumbling with the guitar inside. His last remaining possession from Portsmouth… Killian wrenched the straps off, ready to deck the guy when Milah emerged. 

“What on earth is- Rupert? Is that… you?”

Killian stumbled back a step, aghast. Why would her ex be in London? 

“What is wrong with you? Killian, are you okay?”

Milah had placed herself between the two men, extending a hand to Killian. He took it swiftly, giving her fingers a quick squeeze to let her know he was fine.

“Him?” Rupert’s eyes were black with rage, “you left me for _ him _ ?”

“I left you for  _ me _ , Rupert. Which you would remember if you had ever cared about me beyond your own selfish desires. I didn’t meet Killian until I’d been in town for a year.”

He grinned madly at them, “oh how sweet. And I’m sure he had nothing to do with why you didn’t come back, why you decided to break our vows, sully our name,  _ dirty _ yourself-”

“I am not coming back! I don’t love you, I  _ loathe _ you. You’re going to sign those divorce papers and I’m never going to see you again.”

Killian never felt more in love with her than this moment. Her husband had obviously gone over the edge and there she stood, defiance in her stance, strong beyond belief. He was so taken with her, he never even saw the weapon. A sharp pain radiated from his wrist, exploding into pure agony as Milah screamed, his severed hand still entwined in hers. Where the hell had the man gotten a sword from? He could only watch helplessly as the shock set in, Rupert’s blade piercing her chest. The madman danced away as he crawled over to her, the light in her eyes growing dim. 

“I love you, Killian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used:  
> Amazing Grace - John Newton  
> Save the Best for Last - Vanessa Williams  
> Fools Gold - the Stone Roses  
> All For Love - Bryan Adams  
> Goodnight My Friend - Alan Menken and Glen Slater

**Author's Note:**

> This story is mapped out in full and I'll admit I'm a little nervous posting something not crack nor hardcore angst nor fluff. It's something I desperately want to do right by my original vision but I think at this point I just need to let it happen as it will because life with two humans two & under is f'ing hard.  
> songs:  
> Seven Drunken Nights - The Dubliners  
> Amazing Grace  
> All For Love - Bryan Adams  
> Lover's Rock - The Clash  
> Free Fallin' - Tom Petty


End file.
